Peacock
by Imma Diva
Summary: Hera tells her side of the story involving the birth of Hephaestus.  Taken from Ancient Greek Mythology.


Peacock

It is not easy to be the queen of all immortals and be married to a man who is not satisfied with you. He thinks that I do not know what he does when I am occupied with a summons or holiday. Does he think me blind? I _am_ a goddess after all. Whilst the women he goes to are nothing but mere _mortals_.

I actually pity those feeble maidens who catch my husband's eye; they are usually left with an extraordinary child whom no one can explain, and whom she is left to raise by herself. Of course I am upset in the beginning, but I _do_ do my best to make their lives easier.

There are always the exceptions; Hercules for one. His mother was a despicable creature and he was _so_ _popular—_with _all _the gods. My husband took a special interest in him when he noted his son's extraordinary strength, so like his own. O forgive my temper, but I am embarrassed to say that I did lose my control and caused him to go mad for just a _tiny_ period… in which he murdered his family. And then he spent the next twelve years paying off his actions— that were not entirely his own— by doing what soon became known as the Twelve Labors of Hercules.

So in a way, I made him as popular as he is in your time. An off-handed way to make up for my actions, I know.

Another time I lost my temper was not with one of Zeus' children, but with one of mine.

I confess, I hated my ugly baby— so disgusting and disfigured. I was entirely distraught and disappointed; why should Zeus be allowed to have perfect, heroic children when I was left with the Ugliest Duckling? I suppose I was a tad proud. But my frustration could not be contained. In my rage I ended up throwing one of my own children off the top of Olympus, hoping—though I now despise myself for it—that he would die on impact.

My story?

What is_ my_ take on this particular tale?

Do not be upset; do not think I botch it. I shall tell you the true story of my child's birth –all the gory details.

I was truly enraged at Zeus at this point. Hercules had long since died, and he had had yet _another – _ O, what is the word?—fling!—with a mortal woman. I was frustrated beyond belief that this vile, insubordinate man was to be my husband for eternity. But as I am the goddess of Marriage and Family, I couldn't very well go and have my own affair. So, I concocted a way to have a child on my own. You may wrinkle your noses and exclaim with distaste, but for an immortal goddess as myself, it was completely normal.

So I grew pregnant, growing excited with my belly's girth. Zeus thought he the father, and I soon was the subject of his affections. I made my pregnancy extend past my normal godly length to fit the normal birth of a mortal. For nine months Zeus and I were the picture of newly-weds. We laughed and giggled, kissed and were in one-another's company. He didn't even glance at other women for that short time. That was perhaps the happiest time of my life. He was mine. All _mine!_ I felt more in love with him than ever before. For nine months we were together.

Nine very short months.

When the day of child's birth arrived, Zeus was off dealing with a war on the other side of the world, unaware of my dilemma. Unfortunately, since I had decided to have a normal birth-wait, the pain of having a baby was real and undiluted. I screamed out for Zeus to be with me, to help me, I got no reply. Later I was informed that he had been so enthralled with the war that my screams were like all the others on the battlefield.

The nine muses were my midwives, and did all they could to soothe my pains. I knew that the only thing that would truly help was the presence of my prodigal husband.

And still he did not come.

Finally—_finally _– the bi rth was over. The blood and pain were quickly washed away with hot water, soap, and the music of the muses. They cut the umbilical cord of my baby and washed him off.

"My lady should be so proud," They told me. Little did I know that they were lying.

When they finally gave me my child, I think that they were counting on the pain's aftermath and my exhaustion to blind me.

They were wrong.

"Whose child is this?" I asked, stunned by the runty, disfigured creature before me. "Is this one of Echidna's monster-children? What joke is this?" I thundered at them, my rage overflowing in a brilliant, bright golden glow that was quickly turning red with rage.

"My lady—he is yours."

Imagine my surprise as, shocked into silence, I re-examined the bundle in my arms. The face that looked back was pinched and tiny, red and still tender from birth. Its eyes were shockingly gold, which on any other face would have been eerily beautiful, but in him—I shudder at the memory.

His arms were thin and hardly substantial; one was longer than the other, and the hand on that arm was crippled-looking. His legs were also mismatched, and he was splotched all over with birth marks.

He already had copious amounts of hair, ginger in color, which merely made him look like a tiny, golden-eyed grandfather. I have no other way to describe this.

"AAARGHHHE!" I screeched.

In one fluid motion—I am ashamed to admit—I grabbed the child by the leg, jerked him back, and hurled the baby, squealing, down from Olympus.

"My lady!" The muses were shocked at this lack of control.

Zeus returned soon, talking with—O hell!—Hermes. Hermes was friendly with the wind gods, and mentioned, with a sly look in my direction, a small baby that was hurtling to the mortal world at the rate of a meteor. I cringed away from this information.

Needless to say, Zeus was outraged. "You did WHAT? That was MY CHILD!"

His anger made my old rage inflame. "Not _your_ child—_just mine."_ Zeus was shocked into silence.

I left him in our bed chamber where he had confronted me, and went to visit the gods of the winds. Zephyr was unhappy to give up his 'find' but after some… convincing from me, he handed me over my child .

Hephaestus soon grew, into a stooped, bent young man with mismatched limbs, a twisted face, thick hair, birth marks all over his body, and shocking golden eyes that were disconcerting when one looked into them for long.

He found his place in our ranks as our blacksmith. He once made me a beautiful chair that—well, a story for a different time.

So what can I say? Had I been a mortal when I had done these things—caused Hercules to go mad, threw Hephaestus from Mount Olympus— then these actions would soon have been forgotten, with the people who knew them died. Unfortunately, I do not have this luxury of those who know my story dying. We are immortal.

One of the only times I lose my temper, the whole world knows about it.

I think it was mainly my frustration and despair with Zeus and my inability to have my own, beautiful, heroic child that caused me to do what I did to Hephaestus. I truly love him, and we now have a wonderful relationship, but before… well, he wasn't too thrilled with me.

You're probably wondering how this story had anything to do with my displeasure with my loose husband and my life as the Queen of the Gods. It all had to do with the fact that my husband was never being with me, always with other women and I could do nothing about it because of my position as Queen and Goddess of Marriage and Family.

Many people say that because I am goddess of what I am of that I shouldn't have lost my temper with one of my family. But I do have human instincts and feelings, and you all cannot pretend that you don't lose your tempers with your family members. I just happened to make a bigger mistake when I lost mine with my son.

To this day I regret what I had done to my poor, beautiful son. I have learned not to be so proud with who I am and with my family, but to accept these things. I am not as awful as the stories make me sound.

After all, I am only a goddess.


End file.
